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Vachell, Horace Annesley, 1861-1955

"Bunch Grass A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch"

"
"And then----"
"The rest is in the dear Lord's hands."
She adjusted the thick veil which Southern Californian women wear to
keep the thick dust from their faces, and together we returned to
Leveson's office. Passing the door, I could hear the typewriters still
clicking. Mrs. Panel sat down under a tree in the empty lot, and for
the first time since we had met that day spoke in her natural tones.
"I come away without feeding the chickens," she said.
I looked at my watch; it was nearly six. One hour of daylight
remained. Leveson, I happened to know, was in the habit of dining
about half-past six. He often returned to the office after dinner.
Between the Hotel Paloma, which lay just outside the town and the
office ran a regular service of street cars. Leveson was the last man
in the world to walk when he could drive. It seemed reasonably certain
that Jaspar, failing to see Leveson at the office, would try to speak
to him at the hotel. From my knowledge of the man's temperament and
character, I was certain that he would not shoot down his enemy
without warning. So I walked up to the hotel feeling easier in my
mind.


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